Interview with a Playboy

‘Friends of yours?’ Marco asked sardonically as he climbed in behind her and took a seat opposite.

‘No, of course not!’ The question startled her. ‘I have absolutely nothing to do with them! They’re like a pack of hyenas.’

‘Your point being…?’

She was starting to get used to that derisive dry edge to his voice. ‘My point being that is not my style of journalism.’

‘Ah, yes, I forgot—you are a serious reporter, only interested in business.’

She raised her chin slightly. ‘And I’m good at my job—well, I must be, mustn’t I? It’s the only reason you’ve agreed to give my paper an exclusive.’

‘I hate to burst your bubble,’ he drawled, ‘but the main reason I’ve decided to give the press an exclusive is because of incidents like the one you have just witnessed, where I’m constantly pestered by reporters who want to know everything about me down to what I’ve had for my breakfast.’

Isobel had to agree that the situation had been unpleasant. She glanced out of the window and noticed that even though the chauffeur had pulled the limousine out into traffic the paparazzi were following on motorbikes.

‘And then there are the important business deals that have been wholly jeopardised by unwarranted press attention and ill-timed sensationalistic reporting,’ Marco continued sardonically. ‘Ring any bells?’

She frowned. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting—’

‘I’m not suggesting anything.’ He cut across her firmly. ‘I’m telling you why I’ve taken the decision to give a one-off in-depth interview—I’m hoping it’s going to be an interview to end all interviews. And that I shall get some peace and quiet after it.’

‘And you just happened to offer this opportunity to the Daily Banner?’ she asked archly.

‘I did my homework. And surprisingly your name has cropped up quite a few times over the last say…eighteen months. There was your report about my deal with the Alexia retail group…a few less than flattering columns about my takeover of a supermarket chain, and a very scathing article about my—I quote—“domination of the Rolands Group”. Shall I go on?’

‘No, you have no need to go on, I get the picture,’ Isobel muttered hastily. OK, she had singled his business out for some in-depth coverage last year, but only because he had done a lot of buying and selling, and she had always done her research. ‘I never said you had done anything wrong or illegal. Nothing I’ve written has been untrue.’

‘But it has verged on scaremongering.’

‘I’m a business correspondent. It’s my job to report to the public about what is going on.’

He nodded. ‘And now it is your job to follow me around and report on that.’

She stared at him. ‘Like a kind of punishment?’ The words fell from her lips before she could stop them.

Marco stared at her, and then he laughed. ‘I feel I should remind you at this point that every journalist in the land would probably love to change places with you right now.’

His arrogance was extremely infuriating—and so was the fact that he was probably right. ‘Yes, I do realise that.’ She glared at him. ‘And I’m not complaining. I’m just saying—’

‘That you are a serious journalist who would rather write about my business ventures than my dietary requirements?’ he finished for her, his eyes glinting with amusement.

‘Yes, exactly. I mean, let’s face it, the world hardly needs another celeb interview, does it?’ She spoke impulsively. and then hastily tried to correct the mistake. ‘That doesn’t mean I don’t want to interview you—because of course I do!’

‘Relax—I know exactly what you mean. And I’m more than happy to talk about my businesses and my rise to the top of the financial markets. In fact, that is what I would like to focus on.’

Isobel was sure any business information he gave her would be very one-sided, and she wanted to say, Yeah, right in a very derogatory tone, but she didn’t dare.

‘Well, I wouldn’t worry about it,’ she said instead. ‘Because it turns out that most people are only interested in your lovelife.’

‘Is that so?’ His dark eyes held with hers.

‘Yes… Bizarre, but there it is.’

Marco smiled. He was starting to like Ms Isobel Keyes. Had he hit the jackpot and engaged the one journalist who wasn’t interested in digging the dirt on his marriage?

‘So what exactly is the story with your divorce?’ she asked suddenly, her green eyes narrowing. ‘Because everyone thought that you and Lucinda did seem like the perfect couple.’

No—he hadn’t hit the jackpot, he berated himself. Like every other journalist she was a breed apart—a sub-species for whom no subject was too personal to have a good dig around in.

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Ms Keyes,’ he said coolly.

Was it her imagination, or was his expression suddenly shuttered? Certainly the gleam of amusement in his voice had disappeared. Strange… She had expected that reaction when she talked about his business dealings, not his relationships.

Maybe he just didn’t like the fact that the press knew he was a womaniser? Maybe that was another reason he had agreed to this interview—to try and reinvent himself?

Well, if he thought she was going to fall for that he had a shock coming, she thought fiercely.

The limousine was slowing down. And as she looked out she realised they were pulling up outside her flat.

‘OK, I won’t be long,’ she murmured as the chauffeur got out and opened the passenger door for her.

One of her neighbours was walking past, and the woman almost fell over in surprise when she saw Isobel getting out of a limousine, closely followed by Marco Lombardi.

‘Don’t you think it might be better if you waited in the limousine?’ Isobel said nervously as he walked with her towards the front door.

‘No, I don’t. What’s the matter? Are you frightened there might be gossip about us?’

‘Of course not!’ She slanted a look up at him and noticed that the amusement was back in the darkness of his gaze. Yes, he probably thought that was oh-so-funny. As if anyone would seriously think that he would be interested in her when he had his pick of the world’s most glamorous women.

The paparazzi had roared into the road now, and the usually quiet cul-de-sac was suddenly chaotic as once again they started to take photographs, shouting for Marco to look over.

Isobel was so flustered that she could hardly get her key in the lock fast enough, and calmly Marco reached to take it from her. The touch of his hand against hers was a shock to the system, and she jerked away from him abruptly.

‘There you go.’ He pushed the door open for her and looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. ‘Are the press rattling you?’

‘No, of course not.’ The truth of the matter was that the paparazzi weren’t bothering her half as much as he was.

‘After you, then.’

‘Thanks.’ What on earth was wrong with her? Isobel wondered angrily as she stepped past him into the hallway. It was as if her senses were all on heightened alert around him.

And she had never felt more nervous in all her life as he followed her up the stairs to her first-floor flat.

She supposed it was just the strangeness of the situation. She’d disliked this man for so long from a distance, and now here he was stepping into her sitting room, acting as if he had every right to be here. In fact, his presence seemed to dominate the small flat.

Isobel watched as his gaze moved slowly over his surroundings, and for some reason she found herself looking at the place through his eyes.

The rooms weren’t what you would call spacious, and her second-hand furniture looked shabby in the cold grey light of the afternoon. She was willing to bet that Marco’s designer Italian suit had cost more money than all her possessions lumped together.